


Sentiment and Condescension

by Llama1412



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drinking, Getting Together, Human Furniture, M/M, Teasing, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Roche hadn’t beenplanningto go to the Vengelbud party, but as soon as Emhyr told him not to...Now if he could just get Iorveth to leave him alone, he could get wasted in peace.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	Sentiment and Condescension

**Author's Note:**

> For the sugar and spice bingo prompt "get together"  
> This is a masquerade party, which means masks! Here is [the dog mask Roche ends up with, and Iorveth's mask is based on ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/67/06/52/670652797b51937e6a643dacb3c852ca.jpg)[this fox mask.](https://i.etsystatic.com/5203101/r/il/b4308e/1001851998/il_570xN.1001851998_fw7m.jp)

If there was one emotion that Vernon Roche could sum up his general demeanor with, it was “fuck Emhyr”. Emhyr var Emreis was the bane of his existence, because Roche hated him more than breathing, and he  _ couldn’t _ kill him. Not for lack of trying, mind you. But Emhyr had taken over most of the continent as a coronation gift to his daughter, which kind of made him the most powerful man  _ on _ the continent. As in, had the power to absolutely destroy Temeria if he was feeling vengeful.

So, as much as he hated Emhyr, Roche couldn’t kill him. But he  _ could _ ignore orders.

Technically, Emhyr no longer had the power to give orders. He was the  _ former _ emperor and technically retired somewhere with Geralt or something. But in practice, once a power hungry tyrant, always a power hungry tyrant. So of  _ course _ he would still act like he had the authority to order Roche around.

But he  _ didn’t. _

Not that Roche wouldn’t ignore the orders even if Emhyr  _ were _ still Emperor. The orders were stupid and absolutely below him and honestly something he’d been intending to do already, which meant he had to re-evaluate his entire plan. Because there was no way in hell he was doing something that Emhyr var fucking Emreis had asked of him. Not even on accident.

_ Don’t go to the Vengelbud party, _ Emhyr’s orders read. Roche  _ hadn’t _ been planning to go, because why the fuck would he ever want to?  _ But if you do, listen closely and report back like a good pup. _

Roche snarled. First off, he would have done that  _ anyway _ if he’d been planning to go, but now he absolutely would  _ not _ be doing that. And secondly, how  _ dare _ Emhyr call him ‘pup’! 

He’d been compared to a dog many times in his life – Foltest’s attack dog, Foltest’s peasant mutt, a whoreson’s bitch, someone who followed Foltest around like a puppy – he’d heard it all before. But it never stopped being humiliating and degrading and gods fucking dammit, Emhyr didn’t get to  _ do _ that anymore. Emhyr was no longer the Emperor. There was absolutely no reason why Roche should have to interact with him in any way, shape, or form anymore. And yet…

The worst part was the mask. Because the damned party the Vengelbuds were hosting was a  _ masquerade _ party, a get together of the who’s who of society. Which was exactly the reason Roche opted to avoid it if possible.

But Emhyr must be defied in the only way available to him. So he needed a mask.

Emhyr had ever so thoughtfully included one. A dog mask, of course. As in, literally a mask shaped for a dog’s head, snout and all. It was colored a bright shiny blue around the eyes and the darker shade of Temeria blue across the forehead and ears. Roche knew it was the  _ precise _ shade of Temerian blue, because Emhyr had  _ also _ drawn lilies over the top of it. 

Gods, he wanted to kill that man  _ so badly. _

Obviously he was not going to wear that mask. It was an intentional insult and Roche refused to be humiliated that way.

Except all the vendors were out of masks. Apparently, masquerades were  _ very _ in right now.

And the Vengelbud’s guards refused to let anyone in without an animal mask. Which was how Roche ended up here, drinking himself into a stupor by the buffet table of the hottest party in town, wearing a mask designed for a dog’s skull. 

Another courtier passed by and giggled at his mask, setting his teeth on edge. Alcohol. What he needed was more alcohol. 

The bench he returned to – glass filled to the brim with Temerian rye, because he was a patriot gods dammit – was perhaps not the most comfortable place to settle down for a conversation. Still, that was no excuse for what happened next.

Roche hadn’t actually noticed when so many elves had arrived, but there was no missing the elf walking straight towards him. Iorveth looked very much like his wanted posters, except instead of the bandana hiding half his face, he wore an orange fox mask, realistic except for the lily pattern across the face and snout. 

Roche scowled, hoping his glare would be enough to deter the elf, but who was he kidding? Iorveth had  _ never _ been intimidated by his glares. That was part of why he respected Iorveth.

But that didn’t mean he  _ liked _ the elf. And, as if to prove how utterly unlikeable he was, Iorveth ignored his glare, strode straight up to Roche and  _ sat on his lap,  _ even as he continued to argue with his conversation partner. 

She sniffed haughtily at them, but otherwise had no reaction, as if this were something  _ normal _ for someone to do.

As it was decidedly not, Roche squawked in offense. “What the fuck!?”

Iorveth waved his hand, ignoring Roche entirely as he sniped at the lady elf. Roche was pretty sure she was someone important, but he honestly couldn’t remember who, liquor making his thoughts foggy and indistinct.

From the stiff line of Iorveth’s shoulders, she was someone the elf  _ seriously _ disliked. And he said that as the  _ expert _ on people Iorveth didn’t like. 

Which still didn’t explain the whole lap-sitting thing. 

“Hey!” Roche shoved at Iorveth, refusing to be ignored. “What the fuck, get off me!”

Iorveth like patted his head and turned on him with the most condescending grin he’ed ever seen. “Stay quiet like a good pup, hmm?"

He sputtered as Iorveth’s companion tittered, but oddly, the derogative comparison didn’t bite the way it usually did. Perhaps because he  _ knew _ that Iorveth knew who he was. The elf wasn’t making assumptions off of gossip, he was just – well, teasing.

Wasn’t that strange? And Roche had indeed fallen silent. Now that he was thinking about it, he also… didn’t really mind Iorveth sitting on him that much? Which was kinda weird, ‘cause Iorveth was definitely trying to annoy him, and it was  _ working,  _ but he also found the weight of Iorveth in his lap to be strangely comfortable.

Maybe he’d had more to drink than he’d thought. Sniffing, he tuned into the conversation happening around him. 

“Francesca,” Iorveth said, nose in the air, “aren’t you as beautiful as ever? Which is never, of course.”

“Iorveth,” the woman responded, voice dripping with disdain. “Typical of you to misunderstand the purpose of a mask. You always were a glory hound.”

“Says the conniving elf that sold the Scoia’tael out to gain Nilfgaard’s favor,” Iorveth snarled.

“Which has led to you bragging about the price on your head, as I understand it.” 

“Which led to the murder of hundreds of young elves. Do you know when Nilfgaard attacked us?” Iorveth’s voice was cutting and Roche was really rather wishing he  _ wasn’t _ right in the middle of this.

Also, dammit, he was trying  _ not _ to gather intel tonight. No matter how interesting it sounded.

He downed another shot of vodka and tried to pretend he was only listening because they were  _ right there,  _ after all.

“As we attacked your enemies from the rear,” Iorveth snapped. “You let us get slaughtered  _ while defending you.” _

“I had no choice!” Francesca – and wait, wasn’t that the name of the leader of the elven state? – said. “We were surrounded by enemy forces. If we’d snubbed Nilfgaard’s support, Dol Blathanna would have fallen.”

“You didn’t even  _ try _ to call on us to protect your borders.”

“In war, there must sometimes be sacrifices. That is simply the way of the world.”

Iorveth’s growl at that sent the hair on the back of Roche’s neck  _ straight up,  _ and he really, really would like to not be between the two fighting elves.

He looked around desperately, trying to think of anyone who could possibly get Iorveth to  _ move. _ The elf was a stubborn shithead and there weren’t many people he’d listen to. But maybe–

“Geralt!” Roche called loudly, catching the attention of the monster hunter who always claimed  _ not _ to be amongst the influential figures on the continent. And yet, here he was. 

“Roche,” Geralt greeted, approaching them, “Iorveth, Francesca.” He nodded to them, then turned an exasperated look on Iorveth. “Come on, Iorveth, let him up.”

“Why? He’s surprisingly comfortable.”

Roche made an offended noise, uncertain what to make of that. 

“Iorveth,” Geralt frowned, and the elf grumbled, but finally rose his skinny ass off of Roche’s thighs. 

His legs immediately tingled with the sharp feeling of sensation returning and he grimaced, staggering to his feet.

“Thanks ever so,” he put every bit of pettiness he had into sounding as snide as possible as he bowed mockingly at Iorveth and stomped away.

He’d find alcohol somewhere else. Somewhere far away from an annoying elf who only snorted in response to Roche’s show. 

There were several places to refill his cup around the Vengelbud estate, but each of them had guests clustered around them, gossiping loudly, and one piece of gossip was definitely the Temerian hound who’d managed an invite. 

Gods, he hated parties. He shoved his way forward to get his liquor, then immediately retreated, looking for somewhere secluded that he could have a moment’s peace and get truly and properly sloshed. Passing under an arch, he found himself faced with a path that led to secluded alcoves amongst the hedges on one side and a showcase of the Vengelbud’s hunting hounds down below. It would do.

He sank down on a bench next to an angel statue and slumped, taking his mask off and running a hand through his hair. There were a handful of guests mingling close by enough that he could hear them, but they were easy enough to ignore – until he heard his own name mentioned.

“–Vernon Roche, used to command the Temerian special forces. Heard a rumor that he was the only one Iorveth never defeated.”

“Maybe that explains that radical’s downright vulgar behavior,” an elf scoffed and Roche furrowed his brow. Were they talking about Iorveth?  _ What _ vulgar behavior? Considering Iorveth had spent the past half hour in his lap before he’d escaped, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have missed anything  _ vulgar. _

“I dunno,” another elf shrugged, “I thought it was kinda cute. Like watching an old married couple needle at each other.”

“Disgusting,” the ‘vulgar’ elf scoffed. “If Iorveth has sunk so low as to fraternize with  _ dh’oine,  _ then he should at least keep it to himself.”

A few of their companions hummed, and Roche had to stop himself from creeping closer to spot who the hell was talking and demand to know what the fuck they were on about. ‘cause it kind of sounded like… 

“I kinda get it,” a dwarf muttered. “I mean, I wouldn’t go for a human personally, but there’s a lot of people here. Sometimes you’ve gotta stake your claim.”

...like the thought that  _ Iorveth _ was interested in a  _ human.  _ In – well, in  _ him?  _ Maybe?

That was… well, he just didn’t know what to do with that, honestly. Iorveth being an asshole – that was expected standard operating procedure. He knew what to do with that. But Iorveth being…  _ interested _ in him? That was…

Well, it was probably wrong, anyway. Absolutely nothing about Iorveth being a dick said ‘romance’ to  _ Roche,  _ no matter what those nonhumans said.

Did he… want it to?

He frowned to himself, examining that thought. The idea of Iorveth liking him in any sort of romantic sense was baffling and weird… but not  _ bad.  _ And  _ that _ was a weird enough thought that he really rather needed a distraction right about now, because continuing to think about  _ Iorveth _ and  _ romance _ together made something strange bubble in his gut and he didn’t want to deal with that.

Instead, he tossed back the rest of his vodka and pulled out the next bottle to refill his cup. So involved in his drink, he didn’t notice the longhaired elf approaching him until she spoke.

“I’ve never met someone who actually  _ liked _ Temerian rye before.”

Roche sputtered in indignation, “it’s  _ Temerian!” _

She laughed, “fair enough. I’m Aine.”

“Vernon Roche. Though I think the point of these parties is to stay anonymous. As if a mask can hide who you are,” he snorted to himself, gesturing to the bench next to him. 

She smiled brightly at him, sitting down close enough for their arms to brush against each other. “I’ve always found these sorts of parties to be silly, quite honestly.”

“Same,” he returned her smile hesitantly. Since when did pretty elven ladies seek him out and chat with him? It was… kind of nice, actually. “Have you been here before, then? To the Vengelbud estate?”

Aine nodded. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? But it’s always so busy, and I’ve never been one for big crowds.” She glanced at him through her eyelashes and Roche licked his lips. She was flirting with him… right?

“Would you like a drink?” he offered the bottle of Temerian rye. “I know it’s awful, but it is vodka.”

She laughed. “So thoughtful, thank you.” Her smile creased her cheeks and they flushed a light pink. 

Did he… actually have a chance here?

He swallowed, trying to think of what to say. 

“You know, the point of a masquerade is to wear a mask,” Iorveth’s brash voice interrupted them as the elf draped himself over Roche’s shoulders and gestured at the dog mask sitting off to the side.

“I could say the same to you,” Roche glared as Aine started to scoot away from him.

“I said the purpose was to wear a mask, not to hide your face. And I  _ am _ wearing a mask.”

He snorted, reluctantly amused at Iorveth’s unique form of defiance.

“Aw,” the elf he’d been attempting to flirt with cooed, “you have matching masks, that’s so cute.”

Roche frowned. If she was commenting on his mask, he must’ve been doing worse than he thought. Was that why Iorveth interrupted? Was she about to knife him or something and he’d missed the signs?

“How observant,” Iorveth sneered, looking down his nose at her, and she was very clearly surprised at the venom. Roche was too, honestly, but then Iorveth explained, “they do match. I wear Temerian colors because I was Temerian long before the realm held that name. Never forget whose ruins these cities are built on top of.”

“Of – of course. I – if you’ll excuse me,” she rose, curtsied, and then fled, without even a parting glance at Roche.

He sighed expansively, elbowing Iorveth and slumping on the bench. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”

“What?” Iorveth sniffed innocently, perching himself in Roche’s lap once more. “It’s not as if she was a sparkling conversationalist.”

Roche blinked at the elf, frowning as his brow knit together in thought. Why would that matter? It’s not as if he was looking for a debate partner. But frankly, it had been a while and it would be nice to get a leg over, as it were. 

“What’s your problem?” he asked, assessing Iorveth with a hard gaze.

“I’ve got about a thousand problems and they all start with dh’oine. To what do you refer?” Iorveth asked, snooty. 

“To the part where you chase away the one person who was at least slightly interesting at this stupid party!”

Iorveth snorted. “If that’s what you think is interesting, then I worry for your interests.”

“Do you even actually  _ know _ her?”

“...no. Regardless, you were about to resort to talking about the weather, so clearly she was far from exciting.”

“I was not!” He totally had been. Fuck. How did Iorveth even know that?

Iorveth didn’t deign to answer him, instead squirming to get comfortable and stealing Roche’s cup. 

Roche watched the elf sip his liquor without a care who it belonged to and thought back on what he’d heard earlier. Iorveth was acting casually possessive of him, as if the elf  _ owned _ him. Other elves even thought Iorveth meant it in a  _ romantic _ way, which was just silly.

Right?

He swallowed, considering the idea of being Iorveth’s. It should not interest him as much as it did. Mouth watering, he licked his lips and stole his cup back, taking a swig of vodka.

Iorveth made an aggrieved noise, but didn’t try to reclaim it. Instead, he just leaned back as if he were perfectly comfortable sitting on Roche like he was a favored armchair or some such.

Oh. That was a thought. A weirdly appealing thought. Huh. That wasn’t something he’d known about himself previously.

He cleared his throat, dragging his mind back on task. “You know,” he started, and Iorveth hummed lowly, apparently listening even as the elf lounged against him, “you’ve got other elves thinking that you’re – or well, that I’m–”

“Do get to the point, pup,” Iorveth yawned.

Roche huffed. “You’ve got elves thinking you have the hots for a dh’oine, which I imagine is  _ not _ what you were going for, so…”

Iorveth twisted to blink slowly at him. “What part of this,” Iorveth gestured vaguely to the two of them, “says that’s  _ not _ what I’m going for?”

Roche opened his mouth to respond, and then the words actually processed and he just gaped. That – surely Iorveth didn’t mean – with  _ him!? _

“Well, any gambles on your intelligence have definitely failed,” Iorveth said after several moments of Roche just staring. “Really, aren’t you supposed to be quick on the uptake?” Iorveth shook his head, leaning back against Roche’s shoulder and making himself comfortable as if he hadn’t just–

“Did you just insult me after saying you wanted me?” Roche asked, genuinely confused. At everything about Iorveth and what had just been said, of course, but also at the fact that he still wasn’t pushing Iorveth off of him, wasn’t jumping away and insisting that he’d never–

He licked his lips, thinking about just what ‘he’d never’. 

Iorveth shrugged and he frowned at the side of Iorveth’s face. 

“Aren’t you… I dunno, bothered about your reputation? I mean… there was a time you would’ve knifed anyone who implied that you even looked upon a human kindly.”

Iorveth closed his eyes with a snort. “What good is a reputation when you’re left alone at the end of everything anyway?”

Roche flinched. That… felt a little too close to some of the thoughts he’d had when contemplating why he didn’t just go apeshit and murder Emhyr. Or himself. Or anyone in his path, quite honestly.

“Aren’t there like fifty elves here? Not so alone,” he pointed out, entirely ignoring the rest of Iorveth’s statement and what it made him feel.

Iorveth snorted again. “I’m genuinely surprised none of  _ them _ have tried to knife me yet. They’d definitely like to.”

“Oh.”

Iorveth hummed, “we’re both quite good at being hated, aren’t we?”

He winced. “But why are you – I mean… I’m confused here.” If Iorveth liked him, why wasn’t the elf  _ doing _ anything about it?

Iorveth snorted, stealing his booze again. “I know you’re not interested. But you’re still fun to rile up,” Iorveth shrugged, appearing perfectly relaxed.

“Wait… what?” Since when was he  _ not _ interested?

Wait… since when  _ was _ he interested??? Because he… well, he kind of thought that he might be.

Iorveth patted his head again, slim fingers carding briefly through thick curls. “Don’t worry about it, pup.” The elf swallowed the rest of his vodka and held out the cup, wiggling it in front of Roche’s face. “Need a refill.”

Roche topped off the cup automatically, still frowning at Iorveth’s ear – not that it was hard, given that Iorveth’s head was casually reclined on his shoulder. And he… kind of liked that??? Kind of liked that Iorveth treated him so casually, even as the elf expected nothing from him. But that wasn’t right. Iorveth shouldn’t expect  _ nothing,  _ shouldn’t  _ get _ nothing. This was an elf that had literally sacrificed  _ everything _ for his people, and now he openly admitted that his people would happily kill him. And he seemed to think that was fine.

Roche licked his lips, choosing his words carefully through thoughts that swam with liquor. “You deserve better,” he whispered. “You – I mean, like, with that lady earlier. You’ve been fucked over so many times, but you still literally fought with  _ everything _ you had for elven freedom. That’s – I mean, that’s… you deserve better,” he concluded awkwardly.

Iorveth stared up at him with a wide eye. “...thank you?” the elf said uncertainly.

Roche swallowed, feeling oddly pinned in Iorveth’s gaze. He licked his lips and added, “you deserve better than me, too.”

Iorveth blinked rapidly and then shook his head. “I  _ deserve _ death, but somehow I keep living.”

“Yeah,” Roche sighed, thinking about the way that better men than him had died while he continued to live on. “But since we’re stuck living, why not make the most of it?”

“Mmm,” Iorveth hummed, “planning to tell Emhyr where to stuff it?”

Roche blinked. “What? No, I meant – us. You and me.”

Twisting around in his lap, Iorveth frowned at him. “What?”

“I mean,” he licked his lips, suddenly very nervous, “assuming you’re actually, you know, interested. I’m – um.”

Iorveth tilted his head. “You can’t  _ stand _ me,” he pointed out helpfully.

“You can’t stand me either,” Roche retorted. “Doesn’t mean I want you to go anywhere.”

“You… don’t?”

He shrugged the shoulder Iorveth’s head had been resting on. “You’re comfortable.”

Iorveth’s eyebrow arched, but his lips also twitched, so Roche was pretty sure that was a good thing. But just to be clear, he wrapped his arms around Iorveth’s waist, tugging lightly so that Iorveth untwisted and leaned back against him once more.

“Okay,” Iorveth said, sounding dazed. 

They spent the rest of the party like that, sitting together with Iorveth in Roche’s lap, talking quietly and just enjoying the silence in between.


End file.
